*This is an artilce that was supposed to be posted the day after Thanksgiving, but the holidays were too busy for me to really remember and post it. So, today, the first day of a new year, we are going to enjoy a little flashback from the previous weeks of holiday cheer:

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A heavy tension hung in the air. Their was a steady build-up as the week progressed. But now it was finally here. Thanksgiving had arrived at last!

All through the week-long holiday break, I had prepared mentally for this day. “No overeating,” I told myself, “Absolutely no gluttony this year.” When Thanksgiving morning finally came, it was the most gorgeous day we had had in a long, long while. Perfect for the holiday! As we cooked and made ready, an excited tension welled up in us with each moment.

I kept focussed.

The day progressed, and I had the best Thanksgiving since the ones when I was a little girl making trips to Alabama to see my grandparents for the holiday. We spent nearly the whole day there! We had so much fun! We ate lunch and laughed and talked and talked and talked. I ate more than usual but not too much. I was just over satisfactory (a huge improvement from previous years!) and I was quite pleased with myself, though slightly disappointed that I didn’t do as good as I wanted to. We stayed for hours. Then, we watched a movie and had a good time. Then, we ate supper. I did a little worse then, but still not terribly (this was an unexpected meal, to be honest). We stayed a little while longer talking, but finally had to go since my grandmother was about to fall over with fatigue. So, we left.

When we got home, we unpacked everything and started settling down. It was late now. As I finally managed to make it to my room, I thought, “I’m so full!” I glanced over at the clock. 7:40pm.

“Hmm…” I thought, contemplating this, “I wonder what my missionary sister-in-Christ is doing.” (I have a copy of her schedule for a normal week.)

I dug out the schedule, but already I knew. Between 7 and 8 ( It would be A.M. where she was, and ~30minutes before our time), she would be eating breakfast…..Breakfast. She would be eating breakfast. In India. A small breakfast, no doubt. And risking her life daily to proclaim the Gospel.

And I had just complained about being too full.

I nearly broke down into tears. What had I done? Didn’t I care? I am less ignorant about the extreme poverty in places like India, yet I am “too full” to care. “What am I doing?!” I asked myself.

That’s a valid question. What am I doing? What am I living for? Am I satisfied with overeating and squandering my God-loaned resources when His command is to give relentlessly? Am I satisfied with letting my poverty-stricken brothers and sisters do all the work while there is a world of resources I could be sharing to further the Kingdom of God? Am I satisfied living for nothing but myself? Brethren, this is far too small a thing to live for! What a worthless treasure! O what guilt and shame to stand before the almighty and holy God and give account for my self-centerdness! What a waste to stand before the One I love and tell Him of all the reasons why I spat in the face of all He suffered for! O what tears of bitter grief I write this with even now! Am I satisfied with this? Knowing what will one day be? Knowing the souls that are in hell that I could have reached had I not been too preoccupied with pleasing myself?

I am determined that this shall never more be. I will not continue to be too full to care. I am tired of living for myself. God, stamp eternity once more on my eyes and show me what is truly worth living for. I will follow You.